


The mallard stew

by helia7



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Dinner, Gen, real food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 22:04:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6395632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helia7/pseuds/helia7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finally the team has real food for dinner, but not everyone is enjoying this peaceful mealtime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The mallard stew

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aogera (EchoBerry)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoBerry/gifts).



> Written for the SSSS Fic Exchange filling Aogera's prompt: A lovely eating scene (your choice of meal) outside the cat tank with lots of dialogue <3 humour, teasing, purrito- fluff.
> 
> Many thanks to Kiraly for proofreading this fic!

“Real food! Finally!” Sigrun grinned as she grabbed the bowl Mikkel barely finished filling. “Hurry up, buddy“ she glanced back at Emil “who knows when we can have a feast like this!”

“I said I’m not hungry.” he murmured. It was a lie, of course; he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and the rich, salty smell of the stew simmering in the pot in front of the big Dane didn’t let him forget this fact. But how could he consume something that was a beautiful, living creature floating happily in a pond with its peers – until Sigrun’s bullet took its life?

“Stop whining, this was just a stupid duck and now it’s food. You should eat! I need my right hand warrior strong and fierce, who wouldn’t tremble at the sight of a troll!”

“I don’t tremble at the sight of trolls” Emil grumbled. This was a lie too.

Sigrun snatched a second bowl from Mikkel’s hand and tossed to Emil. “Just eat it up, sulky boy!”

“Aieee!” He had to jump to avoid the splatter of stew threatening his clean clothes. He was getting better – at least at finishing meals without spilling food on himself. He took the bowl and stared at the small, well-cooked pieces of meat covered in thick gravy; oh man, it smelled enticing. But no, he wouldn’t eat any of it, he decided. _That duck had such nice, shiny green feathers on its head_ …

Sigrun was already sitting cross legged on the stool next to Mikkel and was chewing the first bites when Emil looked around to find a place for himself. The only remaining stool was on the Dane’s other side, right beside the lanky Icelander, _Reynir_ , who was slowly spooning his dinner and chatting with Tuuri in that stupid language of his. Could he really trust this guy with those long legs and the ridiculous braid? _Lalli doesn’t._ So Emil turned around and perched on the front stair of their vehicle.

Tuuri suddenly switched to Swedish. “I didn’t know we brought spices with us. I haven’t eaten anything this good in a long time!” A half smile appeared on Mikkel’s face following her words. Emil needed all his willpower not to look at the food in his hands, but unfortunately he couldn’t turn off the tempting smell of it.

“Hmfnalhmy” Sigrun nodded, and then swallowed. “It’s a pity we could only shoot one of these.” Emil looked away slyly– _he_ made sure that the rest of the small flock was able to escape Sigrun’s aim. “But who would have thought,” she continued “our little troll bait did something useful for a change.”

_Bah_. Emil puckered up his lips. Just because the redhead was able to skin and cut a bird without any help, there was no need to overpraise him. Well, Emil couldn’t even touch the poor little duck, but he was capable of doing many other things, like… uh, a lot of useful things, really.

As soon as Tuuri finished the translation, the Icelander’s face lit up, freckles dancing on his cheeks and big green eyes fixed on Sigrun. Oh, how unbearably smug he looked.

“He says they have hens on the farm… at home.” Tuuri interpreted. “And it was like that, like skinning a chicken, but, um, the duck was stringier though… and it was harder to put the knife under the-“

“Hey, hey, that’s enough!” Sigrun interrupted her, and for once Emil was grateful for this; he couldn’t bear to listen to the details of how this barbarian handled that poor little thing. Even his stomach churned. Or was it because of hunger?

A faint noise came from behind him, but before he could turn to check the source, a small white fluff passed him, brushed his thighs, jumped to the ground and rushed straight to Mikkel. More precisely, to the pot.

“Miuu” the kitten looked up at the Dane with big round eyes and a clear demand in her tiny voice; Emil allowed himself a little smile. Mikkel placed a plate in front of the cat; it looked like he had already set apart a portion for her.

Emil heard another noise from inside – not much louder than the cat – and soon two black boots and their owner, the scrawny scout, appeared.

“Lalli!” Emil cheered up as he looked at the sleepy face of the Finn; he had been waiting for him to wake up all afternoon. Mikkel leaned over the pot and scooped out the rest of the stew and held out the bowl. Lalli took it hesitantly.

“Lalli!” Tuuri started to prattle in Finnish – gesturing to the empty stool. For some reason Emil found the sound of this language much more pleasant than stupid Icelandic. Lalli scowled at the stool and the red-haired boy then nestled himself on the front step next to Emil.

“Careful!” Emil snapped; he almost spilled some food from the bowl he was still holding. But of course, it gladdened his heart to have his friend this close to him; in fact, this was his first happy moment in this whole wretched day. He grinned at him; Lalli stared back and yawned.

Lalli eyed his food suspiciously; a little frown settled on his forehead. Then he turned the bowl and sniffed it.

“Yes, it’s awful to eat sweet little animals,” Emil nodded, “I knew you’d be of the same opinion and would rather stay hungry than have a bite of-… uh.” The Finn picked up the spoon and slurped. “Well, all right, you haven’t seen the poor duck alive.” _It was a very pretty duck._ He looked away from Lalli’s dinner and fumbled his hair absentmindedly to suppress his growing hunger.

“Hmmm. Sigrun,” Mikkel picked up a few pieces of today’s finds, “do you ever pay attention to the junk you bring back?”

“Should we?” She licked her spoon and put the empty bowl on the ground; in a blink of an eye the kitten was there, sniffing the leftover gravy on its wall.

Mikkel glanced at the captain. “We could spare quite a lot of pointless risk-taking if you let me-“

“Don’t you dream of it!”

Mikkel closed his eyes and sighed. “Mutineer” Sigrun added.

But sadly, it was true; they barely found any useful items lately – that was the reason Sigrun got in a strange mood today and decided to go hunting instead. No libraries, no schools, no tightly closed cabinets, only decay and dust. The best catch they could get were these thin, colourful booklets wrapped in plastic - _magazines_ , as Mikkel called them.

“Mikkel,” Tuuri turned to the Dane while she threw the last bit of meat to the cat, “Are these papers safe to read yet?” She had been nagging the Dane for hours now, and Emil suspected the big man was playing one of his nasty tricks on her. But Tuuri wasn’t the kind who could be easily shaken off. “Nah, please, can I see them at last?”

“Probably,” Mikkel said with a smug little smile “Which one would you like: ‘Perfect gardens and balconies’, ‘33 easy crochet patterns,’ or the ‘Trendy Girl – Party make-up edition’?”

“Nooo,” there was a slight annoyance in her voice, “the one with the cars!”

Mikkel handed over a thick booklet. Tuuri was tingling with excitement and let out a small, satisfied squeal when she opened the papers. She turned to Reynir to explain something, though the Icelander didn’t show much interest in weird old vehicles. He had a rather suffering expression while listening to Tuuri’s jabber. But Emil couldn’t feel any sympathy for him. He was too hungry for that.

Emil had a strange sensation, like he was being watched, but it wasn’t the first time; by now he had learned not to freak out about this unsettling feeling. He was sitting next to Lalli after all, and with him, weird occurrences were part of their daily routine. Soon enough, there was a little movement, and Lalli’s spoon landed in his stew fishing out a big piece of meat. _Uh, that meat looked so tasty_ …

“You can have it all!” Emil offered him the bowl. “I don’t want it!” Instead of taking it, Lalli gave him an inquiring look; then he shrugged and turned back to his own food, as if he had lost interest in stealing Emil’s.

_But why was he still holding this damn bowl?_ It just flustered him. He swallowed and crouched down to put it on the ground. The spoon taped the side of the bowl and at the sound the kitten pricked up her ears; she had just finished licking Reynir’s platter, though the prospect of a more delicious morsel clearly got her attention. She trotted closer and looked at Emil. And the food.

The kitten’s tongue was already in the stew when Lalli hissed. “No, just let her eat…”Emil turned to the Finn – but his words were out-bellowed by a loud rumble of his stomach. Lalli hissed again and the cat rushed back to the Icelander; in a minute she was staring at them huffily from the safety of Reynir’s legs.

Mikkel was still sorting the magazines, most of them landed in the junk pile at Sigrun’s feet.

“Seriously, I don’t understand,” she kicked the pile with her boot “why did the old worlders put the weaklings on the cover of their book things? These wimps wouldn’t stand a chance against even the smallest beasts.”

Emil peeked over and as far as he could tell, Sigrun was right. All those women in the pictures looked somewhat weird; for example that dark skinned girl on the topmost magazine seemed to be even thinner than Lalli. But – he couldn’t overlook it – she had gorgeous hair; long and black and curly. Emil sighed. He felt the urge to snatch at the booklet, but stopped. _Not now_. He’d sneak out later and have a good look at these papers with nice haired people.

The last of the magazines – with a picture on the cover that looked like a luxurious kitchen – seemed to catch Mikkel’s attention. He opened it. For a moment nobody spoke, only the rustling of paper broke the silence.

“Oh, come on!” Sigrun looked around “don’t you tell me you want to ruin a fine evening with reading! It’s the most boring thing to do when in a good company”

“Why, what do _you_ usually do with your team?” Tuuri looked up from her magazine. “I mean, back in Norway?”

“Ah,” Sigrun glanced back at her with a wild grin, “We tell stories! All the good stories of heroes and great warriors, exciting trollhunts and the like. Sometimes the sad ones, sometimes the funny tales. Like how Old Ruud tricked the trolls of Bergheim or the deeds of Frode Halfbutt.”

“I’m not sure I want to explore this high-toned literature,” Mikkel sneered.

“Then I have good news for you; such boring farm guys would never be invited to Dalsnes. Hey, fuzzy-head!” she stood up and stretched “Get the map; it’s time to send out our little scout. And you, pretty boy, ” she turned to Emil, “you can stop sulking now and eat your dinner.”

 

The sun was about to disappear behind the trees of the little park where they were camping and the cold darkness was creeping over place. The Silent World felt even scarier at night. Emil shivered. And his stomach gave a loud, painful groan. Maybe Sigrun was right and he should eat; he couldn’t bear this aching hunger for long. _But what about that little duck_ … He felt so miserable.

He looked up the sky; dark clouds were covering the pallid stars. He was left alone now – he and his dinner. Mikkel and Reynir were washing the dishes at the rear and he heard Sigrun’s commanding voice from inside. He eyed the bowl.

“Eii!” his heart skipped a beat – something was touching his hair. But he eased in a second, because that something felt very much like thin fingers ruffling his locks. “Lalli, you always give me a start when you do this!” But in secret, he liked these little touches and pats.

The Finn pulled back his hand and took a few steps to the dark, unwelcoming trees. But suddenly he stopped, turned, and walked back. He crouched, picked up the bowl and held it up to Emil. Staring at his pale blue eyes, Emil needed no translator to understand what his friend was telling him.

“You’re right,” Emil mumbled and took the bowl. “And take care tonight”

They looked at each other for a minute, then Lalli turned and disappeared in the darkness. “Take care…”

Emil picked up the spoon and opened his mouth. _Sorry, little duck_. He swallowed. His mouth was suddenly filled with salty taste; the soft, tender meat melted between his teeth. Oh, it was unutterably delicious! It was already cold, and that strange thing might have been a cat hair, but Emil could never imagine a simple dish would taste this good! He scooped out the stew eagerly.

He was almost finished when the kitten came, lazily climbing into his lap. Emil put down the spoon so he could pat the cat; her warm little body felt comforting in the cold evening. But she was doing something strange – she was licking his thighs. He looked down.

_Oh, no! Not again!_

His freshly washed, white trousers were spoilt with small dark dots – the unmistakable specks of gravy.


End file.
